


Enough

by StrongSpork



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Depressed Hank Anderson, Depression, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrongSpork/pseuds/StrongSpork
Summary: After his sons death and separation from his wife, Hank Anderson descends into depression and alcoholism, but enough is enough when he realizes he is wasting this life he has been given. Its a long and hard road to recovery but its not nearly as hard with some much needed help along the way.
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

It had been exactly four years since the accident, four years one week and five days since the day his world was tipped on its head, since the day that changed his life, forever. One week and six days ago, his son turned ten, or he would have turned ten. He would have been celebrating his tenth birthday, both Hank and Louane Anderson would have been celebrating their son’s birthday, Cole’s birthday. 

They should have been celebrating his birthday, but they weren't. Louane spent it as she did every year, in church, saying a prayer for her angel, wishing him the happiest of birthdays, wherever he may be. Hank also spent it exactly how he spent every year, sat in Jimmy’s staring at the bottom of his glass with enough venom he swore he could shatter the damn thing and burn a hole straight through the solid wood bar; until the repetitive music and background chatter got on his last nerve, merging with his own deafening thoughts as they echoed in his skull. 

He would walk home through the bitter wind and ice that filled Detroit this time of year, head spinning as the thoughts inside his head grew louder and louder, his body too numb to feel the icy gale that blew right through him. He would return home, door slamming behind his startling his ever faithful guard dog. Sumo would wake with a start but follow his owner to the kitchen table where he was already slamming down the bottle of black lamb, followed by the revolver he kept in the kitchen drawer. 

Hank would fall with intent down into the kitchen chair, Sumo at his heels as he unscrewed the cap, bringing the bottle to his lips, tipping back a mouthful that burned. He didn’t flinch at the sensation, instead he welcomed it, sat in it and endured it, it was better than the overwhelming feeling of nothing and everything at the same time. 

Not long would pass like this before he reached for the revolver on the table, unloading the barrel before reloading a single bullet. No matter how drunk he had gotten, the man ritualistically carried out the motions having committed them to memory long ago. With the revolver reloaded, he would press it to his temple, an eerie calm about him as he did so. 

Hank would press the trigger three times before he hit the floor, no shot would ring out as he collided with cold tiles, just silence. After two more shots he would have been successful, Hank didn’t keep a record of the amount of times he had been so close to death, holding on by a string, the bullet that would seal his fate sitting one or two clicks away. He would always wake up the next morning, head full of thunder, a dull ache that built the longer he was awake filling his mind, the sour taste of stale booze on his tongue. He would pull himself up as he returned to the waking world, and as if on auto pilot drag himself to the bathroom. When he returned he would hurriedly place the revolver back in its hiding place without even checking the barrel, reloading the damn thing could wait for a time when the sight of it didn’t make his stomach churn; a sick reminder of yet another failure. 

But not this year, well this year was near identical but the next day however, the morning after was very different. 

Hank awoke to Sumo lapping at his face, long wet tongue and hot dog breath coaxing the Lieutenant back into the waking world. A hand was raised in defense, swiping at thin air as his consciousness returned to him in chunks, another piece sliding into place as his hand found the dog, shoving gently. “Sumo..” Came Hanks lazy drawl, the dog whined, persisting with his laps, pushing past the lieutenants hand regardless. “Damn..” He tried again, moving his head all too fast to one side in an attempt to avoid the disgusting damp tongue assaulting his face, the world spinning violently as he did so. “Dog.. shit” 

When the ride finally stopped Hank found himself staring at the smashed remains of a whiskey bottle beside him, the remaining alcohol creating a small puddle which the remains sat in. Jesus Christ… he thought. He'd never managed to smash one before, OK well he had, intentionally, but not like this although he supposed with the amount of times this bottle had come tumbling down to the floor with him it had been a long time coming. Then it hit him, the uncomfortable damp under his right arm, the strong scent of alcohol filling his lungs making him cringe as he tried to lift his arm finding that it was not only damp but sticky too from the liquid. “God…” He groaned as he managed to pry his arm from the sticky pool, the hairs glued slick to his arm, fucking A. 

As he removed his arm, Sumo, who had given up on his assault when Hank had shown signs of life, padded over towards the puddle ready to help clear up the mess but Hank was quick enough to grab the dog's collar just in time. “No, dammit Sumo! That’s dangerous!” The dog seemed to get the message, whining as he bowed his head out of Hanks reach, padding back off to the living room. 

“Fuck sake..” Hank sighed as he finally pulled himself up to sit, his head colliding with the table, the lieutenant letting out a loud “SHIT!” as he jerked out from under the table, hand going to rub the sore spot, making poor Sumo jump. Then came that familiar feeling, as he sat there rubbing his aching head, his stomach somehow more settled than it should have been but still twisting into something sour. The shame, the overwhelming shame, no energy for anger as he looked down at the soiled shirt, then over to the smashed bottle, he daren't look to his left yet for he knew what awaited him there and right now? He didn’t know if he could stomach it. 

God he felt like such an asshole, he’d drank so much he could barely remember the day before.. Although hadn’t that been the point. He’d drank his way into a coma and passed out on his kitchen floor again, he’d been weak and reached for that drawer again, for the instrument in that drawer, again.. Played what would look to an outsider, his favorite game, again. But the fact that he could have died wasn’t what had his face twisting and his stomach churning, no, it was the fact his self indulgent sorrow could have hurt the one thing he had left. He could have taken Sumo down with him or worse… what if he had never woken up... if that damn dog had been just a little more inquisitive, he had been laying beside a puddle of poison, filled with chunks of broken glass, if Sumo had tried to drink it…

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away, letting his mind run like that would do no good at all for anyone. He couldn’t carry on like this, this ritual extended past his son's birthday, this was a near weekly occurrence now and he was destroying what little life he had left. Something had to change. For Cole, for Sumo… for him. 

And so, it did. Hank pulled himself up, dusted himself off and took care of himself for once, for the first time in what felt like years. He called in sick, Jeffery strangely didn’t question him... Figured if the man was asking for the day off instead of simply not showing up then something must surely be wrong, or perhaps the man had for once listened to his former friend. 

He showered and made himself a coffee, black, he didn’t feel as though he could stomach much else at present and he certainly wasn’t about to test that theory. The table was cleared and the smashed bottle was dealt with, he didn’t fancy having a miniature whiskey pond with glass for decoration as a permanent feature in the kitchen oddly enough. Once done Hank fetched his laptop and opened it on the coffee table, going off in search of his jacket whilst it booted up. 

“Now where did I put that thing…” Grumbling to himself as he rummaged through the pockets of his well worn jacket, Hank was a man of comfort over style when it came to most things so he had very few coats and even still he only really wore one of them, it had to be in this one somewhere. “Aha!” The Lieutenant’s hand closed around a familiar waxy feeling piece of paper, with a small semblance of a smile, out of nothing more than victory, he pulled the leaflet from his pocket making his way back over towards the laptop as he opened it out. 

With a huff he dropped down into the sofa, the old thing creaking in complaint as he readjusted himself, pulling the laptop closer on the coffee table as he scanned the leaflet for the website address before leaning forward, inputting the details. With that done he dropped the leaflet onto the sofa beside him, the stark white website springing to life before him on the screen, a bright blue logo popping out at him, reading ‘EDEN’. Pretentious, Hank thought with a scoff as he shuffled forwards to get comfortable as he continued reading. 

“Helping you find the roots to success” He muttered the slogan, cocking a brow at the meaningless cliche, did people really buy into that crap. No, he needed to give this a try, for Cole, he told himself, and for him. As he scrolled, Hank began to question where in the hell Jefferey had found out about this place, the entire site was full of pretentious meaningless crap about self love and the importance of mindfulness. If he had wanted to hear some self righteous asshole preach about ‘mindfulness’ to him he would have taken a visit to the local whole foods, the place was full of rich assholes who had ‘found themselves’ in Tibet and suddenly thought they were Buddha incarnate. 

For Cole, he reminded himself as he continued to scroll through the obnoxious website before he discovered the ‘meet the team’ page, a list of the licenced therapists working for EDEN. People always said you should carefully select your therapist, check what they specialize in etc, but Hank was so fed up of scrolling after the first few pretentious introductions that he clicked on one at random, a man in his late thirties. Pulling his phone out he copied the number over, lifting the device to his ear as it dialed. He couldn’t say why he picked the guy, he just picked him at random… although he did look familiar, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why but there was something about him. 

“Oh..! uh..” The phone ripped him from his thoughts, startling him for a second. “Hi, Is this Mr Kamski? Oh, right of course. Elijah, uhm... I was, I’d like to book a consultation with you”


	2. Meet Kamski

The purple hue of the neon sign stood out like a sore thumb against the stark white building that Hank currently stood before, he glanced down at his phone to double check that he had the right address, sure enough, he did. Hank flinched under the combined glare and hum of the neon sign and sneered at the painfully pretentious building as he pocketed his phone. It took every last ounce of willpower not to just turn around there and then and tell Mr Kamski, where he could stick his “consultation”.

No, he had to do this, for Cole.

Breathing a steadying breath, Hank headed inside, pushing his doubts aside as best he could for the time being. This was the hardest part, he could hear his wife… ex wife’s, voice echoing as he approached the front desk, a preppy looking woman sat behind it, her long blonde hair tied up in a neat ponytail, not a single strand out of place. She looked every bit the part, from the neatly styled hair to the starched square cut neckline of her dress; perfectly professional.

Looking up from the terminal on her desk the girl smiled warmly up at the Lieutenant, her smile revealed equally perfect pearly whites that Hank had to fight not to cringe visibly at. “Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson, I’ll notify Elijah of your arrival, the waiting room is to my right.” Her greeting was warm but the rehearsed niceties made it tepid at best, the clinical cold interior did little to help the lieutenant's mood as he nodded in thanks without ever saying a word to the frankly robotic woman. How in the fuck did she know his name… of course that creepy looking therapist would have shared his appointments for the day with her, and he was sure they had simply taken a photo from public records for his file but something about it just didn’t sit right, he chalked it up to his dislike for all things medical.

The interior was just as chilling as the exterior, all white and dull shades of grey, aren’t therapists supposed to be experts when it comes to comfort? Making people feel at home? Hank couldn’t think of anything less welcoming, a shiver running down his spine as he dropped down into one of the poorly cushioned chairs. He wanted out as soon as humanly possible, this place was giving him the willies, and he prided himself on being a man who didn’t scare easily.

As if on cue a man appeared from the hallway connected to the waiting room, Hank recognized him instantly, it was the therapist he had selected, Mr Elijah Kamski, or should he say Dr Elijah Kamski. Standing to greet him, Hank noted he was taller than he had expected, a reedy slip of a man, compared to himself.

“Ah, Hank” Elijah spotted the other from across the room, clearing the space between them with his hand outstretched. “You don’t mind if I call you that do you?” Hank accepted the hand, skeptically, but firm nonetheless. Up close, Hank could see just how gaunt the man looked, creepy bastard, he couldn’t help but think as Elijah clasped his free hand over hanks to shake with both, a smile revealing canines, before all contact was broken.

“Uh, yeah… that's fine, Nice to properly meet you, Doc” Hank cringed at the use of the title, although he was thankful the other had refrained from using his own, it was nice to be reminded he was a person before his job every once in a while. Elijah had already turned on his heels by this point and was beckoning for the other to follow.

“Please, Elijah is fine” The younger called over his shoulder as Hank followed him down the hallway towards his office. “Right, ‘course.” Hank mumbled as he followed after the other down the short hall, his eyes wandered to the so called artworks that adorned the walls between office doors. Unlike the majority of the decor they did not conform to the harsh uniformity of the rest of the building, however they were equally as unsettling.

“Just awful, aren't they” The doctor's voice caught Hank off guard, his gaze tearing away from the painting he hadn't realised he was scowling at, to give the younger a quizzical look.  
“But…” Was all he could muster before Elijah cut in. “If you ask me, they’re hideous.” He said simply before disappearing inside, holding the door open for Hank who stood dumbstruck in the middle of the hall.

It took a moment for him to recover from that, his mouth twitching up at the corners ever so slightly, a silent “huh” leaving him before he continued on down the hall towards the others office. Upon entry Hank was almost surprised at the interior, the office was decorated similarly to the rest of the building, after that comment Hank had expected… he hadn’t expected anything, he had simply thought that perhaps the man may have had some taste but apparently not. The room was just as lifelessly white and grey as the rest, a large painting of an arctic landscape hanging on the wall opposite the man’s desk.

Before the painting sat two identical red leather sofas, facing one another with a glass coffee table in between. “Please-” Elijah states, gesturing towards the sofas, snapping Hank back into reality. “-Take a seat. Can I get you anything, coffee?” Letting the door swing shut behind them, the air tight frame allowing the door to stop just before the point of slamming, as it slowly sinks into place, the one way lock clicking gently.

“Hm, uh… yeah, sure” That was a comfort at least, Hank thought to himself as he made his way over to the sofas, at least no one could come barging in on them, not that anyone would have any reason to try. “Black, one sugar… thanks” He tacked on as he placed himself down awkwardly on the edge of the sofa closest to the door, Elijah takes note of the decision, be it subconscious or not, as he sits opposite the lieutenant. The table top shines a pale blue as Elijah scrolls through the menu that has appeared on screen, it was… interactive.

Hank has to double take as he readjusted himself on the uncomfortable sofa, A few swipes later and Elijah is closing down the menu, resting his elbows on his knees as he leans closer forwards than Hank would have liked, as his mouth twitches awkwardly up into the semblance of a warm smile.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Elijah starts, Hank cocks a brow. Motioning to the table with a quick nod, the therapist continues. “The wonders of modern technology, give it another decade and these things will be available commercially… how dull. Humans are such lazy creatures, don’t you think?” Hank felt his brow begin to crease involuntarily, he hadn’t come here to have a fucking moral debate with some smart-ass. However, at least while waiting for his coffee, Hank decided to bite.

“I think humans are selfish. They think the world is indebted to them, owes ‘em something for just existing '' He stated bitterly, shifting as he fought the lumpy ridge for some comfort.

“That’s not what I asked” Elijah responded coolly, lacing his fingers together.

“But it is, humans-” Hank persisted “Are selfish, they think they’re owed an easy life, to have shit done for them. You say lazy, I say selfish, it's the same damn thing”

Elijah’s nose wrinkled, lips pursing ever so slightly as he thought it over, concluding with a nod. “I suppose you’re right, human laziness is, at its core, a selfish act” Hank seemed to relax a touch as the other agreed, allowing himself to shift slightly back in the chair.

“Damn right it is” Hank added under his breath, a sudden chime interrupting the moment.

“Ah!” Elijah perked up, sitting up straight. “That’ll be the coffee-” He said to Hank before turning his attention to the door, hand hovering over the table causing it to spring back to life. “Come on in, Chloe” He called, idly tapping a button on the display which Hank assumed released the door. Hank didn’t turn around, although when the door clicked shut behind the visitor, he followed Elijah's gaze to the girl carrying over the tray. It was the same girl that had been behind the reception desk, why was she bringing them coffee… surely they had enough staff...

“Thank you” Elijah smiled up at her as she set the tray down before them, the table having gone back to sleep for the meantime. “Chloe, this is Mr Anderson.” Elijah gestured to the man across from him, Hank giving the girl a courteous wave as she unloaded the mugs from the tray. “We met a moment ago” He stated, the girl pausing to frown as she lifted the tray, holding it flush to her chest.

“I… sorry sir, you must be mistaken. We’ve never met before.” She said politely, looking genuinely upset at the thought that she may have forgotten the man. Hank frowned back, looking between her and Elijah who simply raised a brow.

“That’ll be all, Chloe” Elijah finally said after a long awkward moment of silence between the three, the girl bowing her head ever so slightly in response before leaving the men alone. Hank shifted in his seat again, eyeing the therapist as he lifted his mug to his lips giving it a cautionary sip. It was the perfect drinking temperature, Hank hummed as he took another sip before placing the mug back onto the table.

“So, I read through the questionnaires I had you fill out, thank you for that by the way, I know they can be… challenging” Elijah cut straight to the chase, ignoring his own coffee in favour of leaning back into his prior position, hands laced together between his knees. “Past doctors notes are helpful but I need an idea of where you are currently to properly assess the best course of action for you, Hank. Now remember, you don’t have to do any deep diving today, so you can relax, you are safe here, I assure you.”

Hank cringed visibly at this cliche spiel, he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at it all. “So you read my file, huh?” He kicked himself mentally for that, for how pathetic it sounded.

“Well of course, it is standard procedure-” Before he could finish, Hank had scoffed and was firing off a second question.

“So I suppose you think you know everything about me now huh?” The irritation was clear in Hank's voice although it was steady, almost joking, but Elijah recognised the poorly concealed hostility.

“Mr Anderson, please. I assure you that's not the case. One can never truly /know/ another person without having met them” Elijah’s voice was level and calm, so as not to irritate the other further.

Hank eyed the other cautiously as he fiddled idly with his hands in his lap, it appeared they had come to a momentary stalemate. Elijah took that as his chance to continue. “I know… enough, but I would like to hear from you. Why are you here, Hank?” With that, Elijah leant back from his position, taking up the mug as he went, leaning back into the sofa, taking a sip from his drink; as if giving the stage to Hank, clearing physical space for him to talk.

The lieutenant watched, and against his better judgement, bit back a snappy response. He sensed the other was being genuine, and likely wanted a real response. They were both, afterall, adults, and this was a service he was paying for… it would be childish to fight the man the entire way. “I… Why am I here?” Hank stated more than asked, Elijah simply sipping his coffee in response, allowing the other room to think.

I’m here because I’m a pathetic sack of worthless fucking shit, a drunkard, a washed up old police lieutant who has seen more than he ever fucking signed up for, a coward, a waste of space. I push people away, I let everyone down.. Friends, the woman I loved.. my …

“I’m here because… it needs to stop. Something needs to change because if I keep going the way I am? I’m gonna die alone, real fucking soon.. And it…” There was a pause as the lieutenant fought with something, like a word was lodged in his throat, “It’ll be my own fucking fault”

That seemed to be the answer the other had wanted, as he placed the mug back down on the table, clasping his hands together yet again. “See that, that right there is the first step. It’s going to take a lot of work but that is one of the hardest parts, admitting you need help”

Hank had to fight the urge not to roll his eyes for a second time that day as he made the conscious effort to weather the therapist's words.

“The questionnaires highlighted the main points of focus for our sessions, of course we will uncover more as we go, it is only natural for things to arise as we talk more and get to know one another better.” Hank had no desire to ‘get to know’ this man any better, in any setting, but he was supposedly the best of the best so he would have to grin and bear it. “And I took the liberty of compiling a list of classes and workshops for you to attend to work on isolated issues, which we will also cover here in our sessions however these classes and workshops will work to... “ Elijah paused for a moment. “Supplement our work”

Wait a second, he had to attend ‘workshops’ now as well, was this fucking community college or some shit. No, no. Hank corrected himself mentally, he had to at least give this a try.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be shipping you off to alcoholics anonymous, those support groups aren't anywhere as dramatic as they make them seem in films. You’ll be surrounded with people who understand what you’re going through, whilst it may seem daunting, people often find peer therapy most helpful”

“Right…” Hank sighed, although Elijah wasn’t about to give him the chance to question it. Whilst some would say that bombarding clients with information without time to ask adequate questions may prove to be quite stressful, he could already tell that Hank benefitted for as little room to question as possible.

“I also ask that you sign up to at least one physical therapy class, these incorporate mindfulness whilst staying active and have proven to be some of the most effective forms of therapy in my clients.”

Hank frowned “Correct me if I’m wrong, but ain't physical therapy for people who have had accidents? You know, physical accidents that cause physical pain”

Elijah had to fight back a laugh at that, shaking his head, suddenly serious again “Yes and no. Are you not suffering physical pain, Hank? Would you say your pain is not real because the wounds you have suffered are not immediately visible?”

“Hey, look, I didn’t ask you to get philosophical on me” Hank could stop himself in time, cursing the way Elijah simply scoffed at the outburst.

“I’m not, I am merely stating facts. Your wounds may not have left you without a limb or the ability to walk, but they have hurt you and left lasting scars.”

“Well… I just don’t see how physical therapy can help me, doc… What are they gonna do? Teach my brain how to walk again” Hank laughed inwardly at his own joke, finding himself funny at least.

“In a way, yes, however, physical therapy seeks to do more than that, there are many different physical therapies out there. For instance for yourself I have recommended yoga, it will help to work on your core strength which I felt you would find beneficial for your line of work. It will also help to focus on mindfulness, people often find the breathing exercises involved work to keep you in touch with yourself and your needs, making the work we do in these sessions exponentially more enriching.”

Yoga? Hank’s face fell. Yoga… was he serious.

“Now I understand there is somewhat of a stigma around yoga, but I’d like to encourage you to give it a try, I really do believe it to be beneficial.”

And That was exactly how Hank found himself standing outside of a dance studio in central Detroit, gym bag in hand, on a Tuesday evening in the pouring rain. “I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this... “ He grumbled to himself before pushing through the front entrance.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to use cyberlife as the therapists office name but it felt too weird so we've stolen Eden instead 
> 
> also did ya like my lil nod to the fact Elijah and Gavin have the same actor ahah


End file.
